


I like it that way

by Ecila



Series: One-Shots [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Love/Hate, M/M, a tad of dirty memories, actually pretending to hate relationship, based on SG's song "I like it that way", french!Louis, harry hates louis, he really doesn't though, idiot!niall, love-hate-relationship, not fluff i think, tad smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecila/pseuds/Ecila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis have a hook-up kind of relationship. They meet in the club and then go to each other's places to fuck. </p>
<p>AU of Harry pretending to hate French people, because Louis is French.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I like it that way

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a contest. But I have decided I'll post most of my Larry oneshots on here, so yeah... that's why :)
> 
> Also, NO OFFENCE TO THE FRENCH, okay? This is entirely based on Louis' nationality. If he was American, I would've made Harry "hate" Americans. If he was Italian, then Haz would "hate" Italians. You get my picture, right?  
> Okay.
> 
> So, don't be upset with Harry's rant. It's so vaguely based on true facts, I think... if at all... so yeah :D
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy the Harry POV (sorta) & Louis being french.

Harry Styles stares at the dozen people around him, moving along to the loud pumping music, jumping, doing all kinds of dancing-motions, raving in the too small, too crowded place, pumping their fists in the air, to the rhythm of the music and enjoying themselves, completely out of their minds our close on their way to that state. 

Seconds ago he had been one of them, moving to the music, if only now, without a care in the world and just being. He went along with everything, the fingers that grabbed him from somewhere, trying to get a taste of him, the music that was intoxicating, the lights that flashed over his face every 60 seconds, blinding him momentarily, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd of nobodies that he'd forget within a heartbeat and just enjoyed their presence of. Drowning in the feeling of being surrounded by people, if only for now. 

Light fingertips trace his neck and as though Harry's body instinctively recognizes the touch, Harry's head snaps around coming immediately face-to-face with the one person he's been unconsciously waiting for. “Louis,” Harry smiles at the lad he's met a couple of weeks ago, when he's been clubbing at this very place. He's come back every two days, ever since. 

“'Arry,” Louis purrs in response, voice still stained with that awfully seductive French accent that he's always had and that had lured Harry to bed within the first two hours of their meeting. 

Harry hates French accents, they sound horrid and fake and the French people are known for being cowards and assholes, right? No one needs the French anyways. The history stated so themselves, without the French many fights could've been prevented – Napoleon (he was French, right?) forced many fights, wars and deaths upon human kind, so erasing his and every Frenchmen's existence wouldn't have been a bad thing. 

To this very day, Harry is surprised about how often he and Louis end up in bed, because Harry truly hates Frenchmen, he hates French accents and let's not get started about Louis' looks. 

Harry likes manly guys. Buff shoulders, taller than him, dark hair preferably, and a strong cunning jawline. Quite a bit like Zayn Malik, the DJ of this club. Yeah, Zayn looks about the hottest in this club. He's nicely build. But so is the guy that he always makes out with. His boyfriend, has about the physique that Harry is looking for. Really broad shoulders – broader than Zayn's – muscles that make about everyone surrounding him (and Harry is not immune to that) drool and short hair. From what Harry's heard, his name is Liam and he's a bit of Zayn Malik's boy toy, who goes to gym, so of course he has a reason to look that buff and yummy.

Oh and Harry loves brown eyes. They are warm and kind and they just got something incredibly irresistible and dark. He likes mystery and danger. He's a bit into bad boys, so that is also why fancying Zayn Malik is a norm for Harry. 

And Louis is a bit of the opposite. He's like a fairy. A little fairy. He's got that light feathery hair that, at times, is spiked up, at others is falling tousled into his eyes and sticks up randomly in other places, the colour a warm honey-gold, with lightly darker streaks that indicate his colour being gold-brown. His skin is of a soft sun-kissed tone, golden like a little god, so maybe Harry does like that. But the rest. For instance, Louis has blue eyes. In fact, he's got the pair of richest cobalt blue that Harry's ever seen, they gleam in the dim light and Harry can't remember a day where he didn't wish Louis' eyes had a different colour. A darker shade, even. 

To top that off, Louis is small. He's really short too. His head reaches about Harry's eyes and he always looks up at him through those damned long dark eyelashes of his that framed those pair of cobalt eyes and gave them an alluring aura.

If anything Louis is a pixie, always up in the air, always loud and handsy and he's hard to ignore. Not mysterious at all. Not dark, either. He's like light, bright and all laughter. But Harry doesn't like that, in fact, doesn't want that.

But when Louis' hand touch Harry, he forgets about all the thoughts that speak against this, lets Louis' fingers drag along his bare skin and lets him scratch him until he leaves red scars. 

Harry doesn't like pain, he's never been even close to having any masochistic bone in his body and he definitely doesn't like having marks on his body. But when Louis bites and sucks on his skin, Harry lets him. He always lets him. 

And this time is no different. So when he suddenly feels the fairy-boy drag his teeth along his shoulders, nips and bites and sucks, Harry lets him. He runs his fingers along the familiar petite waist and lets the older fairy-like boy mark him thoroughly around his neck and shoulders, lets him pull his loose henley down to expose more skin around his neck and shoulders and doesn't prevent the feathery light fingers from fluttering up from the inside of his henley, reaching his abs and playing with his body in such a calm familiarity that he's surprised by it himself.

The music is loud, pumping through his veins and Harry drowns in the feelings that suffocate him, closes his eyes, inhales the thick air slowly, breathes out harshly, when feeling Louis' teeth grace his sweet spot and gives in to the pleasure that follows. 

He's being swayed back at forth, along with the constantly moving crowd that seems to thicken more and more, leaving no space to breathe, making him being touched from every side – by accident or on purpose, Harry couldn't distinguish, but he was in no state of mind to think about such irrelevancies. 

Most of his mind was occupied with the feeling that Louis' fingers and lips and teeth evoked, the few that is left of his mind was clouded and intoxicated with the consumed alcohol, leaving him utterly mindless in the middle of the dancing crowd, eyes closed and letting himself fall in the feeling off being wanted.

 

 

*

Harry walks to school, after a very long and dizzying weekend that left him to wonder whether alcohol was really bliss or sorrow. The pounding had stopped, after he had taken the third vitamin pills that made him scrunch up his nose, because Harry disliked taking pills generally. 

“Still sleeping 'round, yeah?” comes a voice right beside him, and Harry tries his hardest not to flinch, when the Irish claps his back with force but smiles. 

“Don't talk to me yet, Niall,” Harry whispers, pleads, naturally raspy baritone cracking slightly. 

“Whoa, what've you been up to?” Niall grins and he looks about everything but sorry for his best mate, when he observes the curly-haired.

“Feel like I've been fucked all over.” Harry truthfully replies, trying to focus on breathing and walking only.

“I didn't judge you as the one BEING fucked, but okay.” Niall replies, voice as cheerful as ever. Harry hates Niall a little right now. The Irish bastard has been clubbing with Harry and probably went to someone's place as well. Only that he's a lot better at recovering from the nights than Harry is. About 800% better. He's got a fucking skip in his steps. Harry hates him a lot. 

“So, who's the lucky guy that caused you to to walk like that?” 

“I don't---I walk fuckin' _normal_ , okay.” Harry hisses, because talking is a bit of a struggle, when his opposite is all rainbow and sunshine and you personally feel a bit dead, except for the pain in your sore ass. So yeah. When Harry had hissed for Louis within the 3rd time to be 'rougher' he didn't mean to make him so sore he'd need medical attention, for fuck's sake. 

“Yeah, 'cause walkin' like you still have a dick up your ass is normal.” Niall snorts, shaking his head but gives Harry a smirk, “Unless that is _your_ normal, then I'd be slightly worried.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Niall laughs, all carefree and awfully amused, but he gives in, because Harry looks both, embarrassed and just a bit miserable that he has to walk at all, so Niall lets him off the hook this once. 

 

 

*

Harry stares at the front of his class and shakes his head to himself. There he is, short as ever, feathery hair tousled all over the place, goofy wide smile on his lips and he waves at the class, “Bonjour everybody,” his obnoxiously cobalt depths twinkle then, “Je suis Louis and I 'ope we'll all... get'long good.” his voice is still a bit strained, probably from the shouting they had only hours ago, but the French accent is as clear as ever and Harry is reminded that he hates this guy. He hates him with a deep passion that pools in his stomach and mixes with aggressive desire to feel those pixie hands all over his body again, and maybe to grace that tanned soft skin with marks of his own. Just because. Feel him beneath his fingers again. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense at all. 

Harry is reminded off the way Louis, all pixie and small and fucking fragile, had been in control in bed all along and Harry, even though he likes to be manhandled, is a bit ashamed of having let that French lad having done that. If it helps his case, Louis is much stronger than he looks. He might even win in an arm-wrestling against Zayn. Or maybe not. 

Harry misses the complete introduction, misses Louis being told to take that seat right behind him, but what he doesn't miss is the way Louis simply walks passed Harry as though not recognizing him, or rather ignoring him. And he doesn't like it. Hating Louis the Frenchman is one thing, but being ignored in return a complete other. And he definitely doesn't like it at all.

But that's how they are. They've crossed paths outside of dawn and night times before. They had not acknowledged each other's presence though, remained doing what they were doing before noticing one another. Ignored each other. 

Harry hadn't questioned it, had accepted that as part of the relationship they had going, the kind that lasts from meeting in the club, till separating on the bed – or the dark alley. Wherever they had their little fun, before seeming to forget about each other's presence all over. Except that Harry never really forgot about Louis and their touches. The way his petite fingers wrapped around him, the way his whole small body could surround Harry, could suffocate him with desire and need and pure lust. The way Louis tilted his pretty little head to the side, when he came and the way he whispered a breathless 'Arry' on his lips, whenever he did. Harry had that constant stream of memories in the back of his mind, whenever he was awake. Sometimes, when he awoke alone on his bed, he'd be reminded of him having had dirty dreams of Louis, when he felt himself being painfully hard. 

But that is another part of the relationship with Louis that Harry learned to accept and not to question. Harry and Louis forget each other, after the pleasure, that is what they're supposed to do. Only that Harry doesn't. But Louis doesn't know, and he most likely never would. And it's good that way. 

They didn't talk much anyways, except for dirty nothings between panting and a lot of filthy swearing before they come, in fact Harry would have never found out Louis was still going to school, if he had not turned up in his class today, but somehow that doesn't surprise him, and somehow he accepts the change of situation as easy as anything else concerning Louis. 

The class passes without much event, but Harry is aware of Louis' presence, aware of the rich cobalt depths staring right into the back of his head. And when he gathers his things, he lingers a bit longer, maybe waiting to see Louis' pass and stare at his fantastic ass. Louis does pass eventually, but not before brushing his left fingers feathery light against Harry's sides, a specific spot that he's left bruised with a heavily red hickey, only hours ago. Harry barely flinches, but lifts his head just in time to see Louis winking at him and leaving the class. Oh. 

“Wasn't that your...?”

Harry doesn't react at all, doesn't even turn to Niall, but slowly an undeniable smile forms on his lips, when he shoves the remaining things off his material into his bag and then gets up. 

“Harry, was that French guy your little--”

“Yeah.” Harry turns to Niall, “He is.” 

“You guys didn't talk all that much...” Niall comments and Harry is slightly surprised. It's not like people have deep conversations with their one-night-stands, ever. It's rather normal to not talk outside of the bed at all, isn't it?

“We don't. Didn't even know he still goes to school.” Harry admits, exiting the class with the Irish man right by his side. 

“What, really? I thought... because you're exclusively doing him, you two would at least--”

“I don't,” Harry interrupts, and his green eyes flicker to Niall in surprise. “What makes you think me and him are anything exclusive?”

“When was the last time you had sex that wasn't with him? And no, threesome with him involved doesn't count. And jerking off isn't sex, alright.”

Harry feels that stupid smile still gracing his lips and shrugs nonchalantly, “Don't remember. Besides, why jerk off when others could do that for ya. And I never had a threesome with him, mate.”

“That's what you claim.”

“I didn't have any with him.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Niall,” Harry eyes the Irish and shakes his head. “Threesomes are risky, alright? They might end up in a twosome and the third party voyeur-ing and not enjoying it at all, or enjoying it too much.”

“And jerk off while doing so. Just like a normal porno.” Niall counters, clear blue eyes light and amused. 

“Seriously, we didn't ever go down that road. We tried some different kinks, but... it was always just the two of us.” Harry clarifies, voice calm and neutral and he isn't sure why he feels that strong need to elucidate it to Niall, but he does. 

“Okay, alright...” Niall shrugs and that's that. The topic is done. At least for Niall. 

 

 

*

Standing at his locker, Harry has just finished packing his bag, when a pair of lips suddenly trace along the shell of his ear and bite just hard enough to leave a sting behind. He recognizes the touch, the lips and bites back the trace of a smile that automatically forms. 

“I din't 'xpect to see you 'ere, 'Arry.” the obnoxious French accident sounds still as seductive as ever, voice this time lower and breath caressing Harry's ear. Harry can feel the French lad's body press into his back and he bites back what could only be a soft moan. He refuses to moan in the school, in front of his locker. No matter how hot everything suddenly feels. 

“I didn't expect you either.” Harry replies, voice composed and calm, and contradicting with his heart that skips a few beats. 

There's a gentle laugh that follows and the wet touch of a tongue right behind his ear and Harry instinctively shudders. He can't prevent his body from reacting. “'ll see you tonight, then,” Louis whispers, lips sinking into a fading hickey right at the back of Harry's neck and sucking there a few seconds for good measure. “Till then, 'Arry.” he whispers a promise that makes Harry's skin tingle and his heart skipping beats. He feels a bit funny, and he would be worried, if the feeling wasn't already a daily occurrence whenever he was in Louis' presence. He learned to accustom and get used to it. To ignore it and not question why his skin tingled at their every touch, and why he smiled all stupid and wide when Louis' breath ghosts over his skin. And then just like he appeared, Louis is gone again. 

Harry turns just in time to see the door close and still feel the lingering heat on his neck. And the smile that follows is a bit too permanent, a bit too wide. But that's okay. Because Harry hates the French, the French accent too, and definitely Louis. But what he doesn't hate is their little fun in bed. But that's all it is. Fun. They're not serious. They don't even acknowledge each other's presence outside the bedroom and or club's rest rooms, or where else they decide to pleasure each other. 

That's okay, because something about that stupid little fairy-alike French has Harry captivated, anyways. Has him coming back for more. Each time. Even though he hates him – and he really does. But that's how they work and he likes it that way. 

And if his heart does something unexpected along the way, no one will ever have to know. Because he's not letting Louis go. So he has plenty of time to find out what it is. 

 

 

 

“ _Cause you're not my type, this can't be true... I don't know why, I'm all about you_.”

“ _If it's real, tell me so 'cause I'm not letting you go_...”

“ _And I'm not in love, but I like it that way..._ ”

 

 

-THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it enough to leave a comment? They always mean so much to me <3
> 
> -Alice


End file.
